Frog Legs and Wooden Spoons
by GlitterTech
Summary: Every nation has some odd, deep-set fears. Britain is no different, and very blinded by his quirky little fears. A little drabbleshot with no real plot or purpose.


"BRITAIN! GET DOWN FROM THE REFRIGERATOR RIGHT NOW!"

"NO BLOODY WAY! NOT UNTIL YOU GET RID OF _THAT!_" America ripped off his apron, discarding it on the table behind him. Since Britain was shaking violently and pointing with a whisk, it wasn't easy to tell what he was speaking of on the extremely crowded countertop. Deciding that just talking wasn't going to get them anywhere, America went for a forceful approach. The sighing superpower lifted the refrigerator carefully and tilted it forward in an attempt to make Britain fall off of it. He instead started screeching loudly and clung to the appliance, his scrabbling feet knocking off all the magnets. He clutched at the strainer on his head, thinking that it protected him from whatever it was that was frightening him. America set the fridge down rather violently, getting a shrill squeak out of the Brit who quickly crawled back to safety. Thirty minutes of this was not doing anything positive for his stress levels.

Running his hands through his hair, the very frazzled American man decided to take a different approach. While the shorter blonde was preoccupied with muttering under his breath and brandishing his plastic star wand, America took the opportunity to creep up the side of the fridge, and sidle up next to Britain.

"So… uh… Britain. What are you hiding from?" The man turned violently, his strainer swinging. He blinked a few times before screaming again and trying to shove America back down to the floor. Britain could be much stronger than America if he tried, so America ended up leaving finger indentations in the fridge and ripping out a cabinet handle on his way down. From the frenzied shouts and whispers coming from above, Britain wanted him to remove something from the counter before he exploded.

"JUST TELL ME WHAT IT IS SO I CAN GET RID OF IT!"

"NONONONONO I WON'T SAY THE NAME NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

After about ten more minutes of futile efforts, America managed to get Britain to pay attention to him for long enough to explain what he wanted him to do.

"Okay, Britain, dude, just scream louder when I get closer to whatever's scaring you, okay?" Britain started screaming very quietly, so he assumed the green-eyed man got the idea.

America's hands floated over a dozen things. Magazines, car keys, jackets, silverware, plates, bowls and cups, and one by one, Britain's screeches got louder and louder. America was almost to the end of the counter before Britain shrieked at an ear-splitting level and hid his face behind his strainer-hat. America looked down at what was under his hand and face-palmed almightily.

"Britain, it's just-!"

"FROG LEGS! NASTY FILTHY HORRIBLE DISGUSTING FROG LEGS!" The man wailed, blindly waving his whisk-and-wand combination at America. The larger man just stared in a very confused, 'what the fuck' sort of fashion.

"Britain, it's salad. SALAD. THERE ARE NO AMPHIBIAN PARTS ANYWHERE IN THIS KITCHEN," America stated loudly, trying to cut through the other's terrified haze. Britain's eyes darted around the room, his pupils as small as pinheads. He slowly looked in America's eyes, and whispered.

"… spoon …" America raised an eyebrow. There were about four different kinds of spoons in the vicinity.

"Which spoon?"

Britain made frantic hand movements that made no sense whatsoever. America followed Britain's eyes until he saw them resting, terrified, on the salad bowl that turned out to be the bane of his existence for the past forty minutes.

"The… spoon?" America pulled the wooden serving spoon from the salad bowl, eliciting a gasp of fear from the man atop the refrigerator. Keeping eye contact the whole time, he snapped the spoon in half, and tossed it out of a window. Slowly, Britain's whole body relaxed in relief and his eyes returned to a very not-insane looking normal. He slipped clumsily down from the refrigerator that had been his safe house, and tripped over to America. America patted Britain on the back and led him to a chair.

"I… I hate frog legs." Britain said sadly, staring into America's eyes. He sighed good-naturedly and nodded.

"Yes. I saw that."

"I hate wooden spoons too."

"I saw that as well."

"America?" The country looked up to find the other's lightly-blushed face mere inches away from his.

"Th-thank you for helping me." America grabbed Britain's hand and smiled kindly.

"Anytime."

_This was originally going to be a kink meme request, but it was so specific I just wrote it myself. This is very random and makes not a bit of sense, but I still like it. In an odd way. _


End file.
